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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THOUGHLBIRD WARBLINGS 



POEMS 



By 
JESSIE PALMER 



GRANT PUBLISHING HOUSE 

Maquoketa, Iowa. 

1915 



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Copyrighted 1915 

By 

JESSIE PALMER 

All Rights Reserved. 



MAY 19 1915 

©aA398884 



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This volume is lovingly dedicated to 
my father and mother, William and 
Dorothy Palmer, who have understood 
and encouraged. 



FIRST DIVISION 

INTRODUCTORY AND NATURE POEMS 

To My Thought-Bird. 
To My Pen. 
A Rainy Night. 
To an Old Tree. 
To the Violets. 
Spring Flowers. 
Night in Summer. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLTXGS 



TO MY THOUGHT-BIRD 

Sing on! Oh thought-bird in my heart, 

And render song of soul — 
Thought-curreiUs threading life's dream-sea- 

Sweet warbling true thy role. 

Refrain! Avild thought-bird, close alight 
To man and nature's breast — 

Mid common helds of grass and grain, 
Where God bade man's feet rest. 

Oh, hover o'er life's highway steep: 

Extol that fiintsome road 
Where human traffic bravely bears 

Along its motley load. 

Portray, in songful eulogy, 

God's world and all therein. 
From earth's own bosom soaring oft 

Full cloudward o'er the din. 

Man's aspirations, carol, from 

Seeds lowly to fair blow; 
Not one, but has his tree "ideal," 

On which thought-blossoms grow. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



From lield and highway, rise, and sing 

Mid treetops, blossom-fiiied; 
Then, up! and perch the filmy clouds. 

Until thy soul is thrilled 

With yearning to attain the skies; 

Oh boundless freedom thine! 
Full flightsome thou canst warble, then, 

"Both heav'n and earth are mine!" 

TO MY PEN 

Of all the true friends in this world I hare had 

But one ever constant has been; 
My joy makes it glad 
And my grief makes it sad; 

That friend is my dear, dear old pen. 

Together we wander in fanciful flight 

Through realms where abides genius fair. 

And in silent delight, 

Oft by day or by night, 

We counsel and meditate there. 

At morn when the sun's million beams dance about 

Like nymphs just escaped from a den. 
My light heart goes out 
To this friend so devout 

Making joyous my faithful old pen. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLIXGS 



Again, when the sun, in the clear noonday skies, 
A supreme monarch reigning aloof. 

All so free from disguise 

His own glory descries. 

Then my pen of mine ardor is proof. 

At eve, when the fragrance of blossom and flower 
Pond memories, long hidden, recall. 

My pen yields to power 

Of that sweet tranquil hour 

When twilight 'gins softly to fall. 

It sings, with the nightingale, songs of repose, 

For oft while the beautiful moon 
O'er night's dreamy doze 
Her lovely light throws 

My pen with my soul doth commune. 

As soul dwells in soul, so in mine dwelleth thine. 
There is union in feeling and thought; 

Thy spirit, benign, 

Is my soul's friendly shrine. 

Sacred vault which the world enters not. 

The world's blighting shadow cannot fall between 
Our souls wrapt in God's holy light, 

A halo unseen 

By the world's eye so keen. 

Though it burns ever vivid and bright. 



10 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Thy voice, Avhich is silent to all but mine ear^ ;'; 

Re-echoes the song in my heart, « 

And scenes, ever dear, -, l 

Thou canst paint true and clear 

With thy light tracing linger of art. 

That poetic finger, whose magical touch 

Lures many an incident forth, 
Makes us think and feel much. 
For its paintings are such 

That preserve every memory of worth. 

When friends that I cherish grow distant and col^ 

And spirits fall, sorely depressed, 
I fly as of old 
To my pen and unfold 

All the sorrow and pain in my breast. 

Sweet happiness, too, do I share all with thee. 
Oh my sensitive, trustworthy friend! 

Congenial are we. 

For I know thee to be 

All honor and truth to the end. 

Thy tears are sincere, and thy smiles free from guilt;; 

For solace on thee I depend; 
Faith in thee cannot tilt 
For I know that thou wilt 

Thine ear in sweet sympathy lend. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 11 



I deem this fair friendship the noblest and best 
That God ever gave life and tone; 

Indeed, it is blessed 

With a zeal and a zest 

Which makes it a kin to His own. 

Oh Pen, precious Pen! what a treasure thou art! 

In virtue's footprints hast thou trod; 
Thou canst not depart 
From thine home in my heart, 

Priceless gift from our generous God. 

Thou hope in despair, lighting paths to success, 
I my life by thy teachings will mold. 

It is wealth to possess 

Such a friend as I bless; 

Ah, my pen is a friend that's all gold! 

A RAINY NIGHT 

Silver rain-drops patter softly 

On the roof above my head 
While I lie amid the darkness 

Pierced by silent gleams of red. 

How I love to hear them dropping 

Then go frolicing along 
Till they trickle through the eaves spout. 

Singing such a merry song. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WAFIBLIXGS 



Bubbling, rippling, rushing onward. 
Dancing, laughing, in their flow 

As they leap in great confusion 
Down the cistern there below. 

Ah, the music in those rain-drops 

Strangely soothes the aching heart. 

Calms the tempest in the bosom. 
Bids despondency depart, 

Fills the soul with sweet contentment, 

And the heart grows light, the while. 

Dries our tears, and slyly coaxes 
Into life a sort of smile. 

Ah, this calm and peaceful feeling 
Wrought by music in the rain, 

And the rest it brings while playing 
On the roof and window-pane. 

Surely each drop is some message 

From the world's one guiding star, 
Some pure thought or inspiration 

From His throne in heaven afar, 

Some sweet message of compassion, 
One kind word of His great love; 

Hark! they surely are re-echoed 
From that land far, far above. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 13 



Ne'er were strains so low and soothing, 
Filled with harmonies complete 

And with tones so soft and mellow; 
Ah, 'tis music strangely sweet. 

Naught of bitterness nor sadness 

Does this influence recall. 
Gentle rain-drops, how I bless you 

As you swiftly, softly, fall. 

Let me close mine eyes in slumber. 
Hum again your thousand airs. 

Melodies so full of meaning, 
Banishing all earthly cares. 

Let my dreamings be of heaven 
While I list to strains divine. 

Angel visions hover near me 

And their arms about me twine. 

Now I wake from peaceful slumber. 

Morning greets me with gla4 song^ 

Birds are warbling near my window 
In a noisy gleeful throng. 

See, the sun shines out so brightly I 
Making all the glad world hum. 

And the air so fresh and fragrant 

Tells us all spring flowers have come. 



14 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



It was sweet last night to listen 

To the patter of the drops ; 
Now I'm glad to see them glisten 

In the leafy green tree tops. 

Life's bright side alone is upward 

Since the gentle, all-night shower 

And the thoughts that fell from heayen 
In that wakeful, midnight hour. 

Spring has come, so let us welcome 
Her in all her moods again; 

Welcome, spring, and golden sunshine. 
Flowers, and showers of happy rain! 



TO AN OLD TREE 

It wakened from its winter dreams 
As from a study brown. 

And for a dress of gorgeous green 
Exchanged its snowy gown. 

It smiled, and nodded to the world. 
That old tree, daily seen. 

But never looked so fresh before 
In leafy gown of green. 

The magic hand of smiling spring 
But touched the tree, when lo! 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 15 



:New life 'gan surging through its veins 
And clothed its branches, so. 

It felt the thrill of energy, 

Nor knew that it was old, 
While through its crown of budding green 

The sun poured streams of gold. 

It trembled with a new-born joy 

That spring, unfailing, gives, 
'That joy that leaps from root to twig 

And makes it glad that lives. 

•Oh see this model form of strength, 

This living portrait, fair, 
With life, and hope, and joy, and bloom 

Out-bursting everywhere. 

Whoe'er would guess thy many years, 
Or dream, while through their lapse, 

'Twere bitter storms and tempests sent 
By God himself, perhaps, 

That made thee grand, and strong, and firm, 

E'en now, in thine old age. 
To face betiding ills of life 

With matchless calm, and sage? 

Tet, all thy noble, hardy strength. 
Hard earned, and slowly gained, 



16 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Were but as naught, had sweetness fled. 
And strength alone, remained. 

But thou hast lived the beautiful; 

The throne above the blue 
Did not forget to pierce the sky 

And let the sun shine through 

To carry warmth, and loving thoughts. 
And sweetness, to thine heart. 

Which blossom out, and beautify 
This nature's work of art. 

How green its leaves and red its buds! 

How bright its blossoms are! 
How rare its perfume, round about. 

And wafted yet afar! 

Its spreading branches love to cast 

A cool and friendly shade; 
And tenderly they rock the nests 

Among their blossoms made 

By bright-plumed birds that warble there: 

For yearly, in the spring, 
Sweet songsters from the sunny south 

Their home flight gladly wing. 

And all day long they toil and sing 
About the old home tree, 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 17 



While every twig vibrates with song 
As if in sympathy. 

'Tis here, at morn, the snowy doves 

Delight to bill and coo, 
At evening, sings the whippoor-will, 

All bathed in silver dew; 

And later in the stilly night, 

From this, his sacred throne, 

The nightingale pours forth his soul 
In sadness, and alone. 

Methinks the old tree understands. 
And breathes his sweet, sad tale 

To sleeping songsters, dreaming of 
The wondrous nightingale. 

Ah, sweet indeed, the tender thoughts 
That cling to this old tree; 

Were every life like unto thine 

How grand this world would be. 

'Tis God's example set for men, 
Full-grown in His wise way, 

Nor questioned aught of why it grew. 
Nor dared to disobey. 

And heaven's angels would rejoice 
With earth, in endless song, 

If, like this tree, our lives could be 
Thus beautiful and strong. 



18 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



TO THE VIOLETS 

Pretty violets, blue and dainty, 

From the green earth upward growiag. 
All your beauty and your sweetness 

On this world, in joy, bestowing. 

Though the life you live is simple, 
Yet, methinks 'tis glorious, too; 

People love you 'cause you're fragrant, 

'Cause you're sweet, and shy, and blue. 

And you creep like heaven's sunshine 

Deep into the human heart, 
Where the thoughts that hover round you 

Never from the soul depart. 

Thoughts so pure, and sweet, and tender. 
Swiftly pass the golden hour 

While we, wandering, stoop and gently 
Pluck this dainty little flower. 

Pluck an hundred, pluck a thousand! 

All the eager hands can hold! 
Keep them near us, give to others 

And the good is manifold. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 19 



It is good to see you, violets, 

In the home and everywhere, 

Good, to have your precious fragrance 
Scenting up the sunny air; 

But we'd like to have you tell us 

If you came here from afar, 
Where you got your wondrous beauty. 

And exactly what you are. 

Did you borrow all your blueness 
From the azure of the tkies? 

Are you but the thoughts of angels 
Sent to earth by the Aii-wise? 

Is your mission gladsome tidings 
Of the beautiful new spring? 

And your secret, but the knowledge 
How to make the sad heart sing? 

Did you get your airy freshness 
From a stray celestial breeze? 

All your virtues, modest violet, 

Speak! where got you, dear, all these? 

Tell us why we seek you, violet. 
In the morning of the spring; 

Why we smile, and gently pluck you. 
Dainty, modest, little thing. 



20 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Though you blossom but to perish 
In perhaps, a single day, 

Yet, your soul God gave in sweetness, 
Born into this world to stay. 



SPRING FLOWERS 

How we love to gather flowers 

In the pasture by the lane, 
In the field, and in the meadow. 

After some refreshing rain 
Or at morning when they're thickest 

And they look so fresh and bright 
Sparkling with the diamond dew that 

Settled on them in the night! 

By the mill stream they are growing, 

On its gently sloping banks 
Where the fishes splash the water 

When they play their swimming pranks: 
And some lift their heads so proudly 

Mid the slender waving grass, 
While the modest wild flowers nestle 

Where they're scarcely seen, alas! 

All around the bluffs we find them, 

Poising on some jagged edge 
Where a clear, cool spring comes bubbling 



THOUGHT-BIUD WARBLIXG3 21 



From beneath its rcxiky ledge 
And falls, with a ring of music, 

Lightly o'er the shallow brink 
Where the fairies and the wood nymphs 

Come with silver cups to drink. 

Yonder hill is glorious with them! 

And the flats are covered, too, 
With a wealth of blowing flowers. 

Every kind and every hue. 
All this tender life and brightness. 

Flowers, and moss, and creeping vine 
Oather, from the air and rain-drops, 

Sparkling dew and warm sunshine. 

Flowers, and ferns, and tinted blossoms. 

Hedge, and bush, and budding trees 
Breathe a mingled breath of fragrance 

Scattered by the playful breeze. 
All this glory, bloom, and sweetness, 

Flood of beauty far and wide. 
In a few short weeks will vanish 

Like the ebbing of a tide. 



NIGHT IN SUMMER 

Here, in a soft flood of moonlight, 

Here, neath the star-studded skies. 

Nature, communing with heaven, 
Quiet and slumbering lies. 



22 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Yonder, the hills rise in silence, 

Save for their mumuring streams, 

Peaceful, and true in their outlines; 

Hills, can you tell us your dreams? 

Pose you in motionless grandeur, 
Resting in deep slumber now 

"While the great loving moon, rising, 
Lingers, and kisses your brow. 

Never so deep is your slumber, 

Swift, little bright flashing streams. 

Yet, the grand night-fall has surely 

Brought to you bright, happy dreams. 

Restless and mirthful, ye brooklets. 
Still in your beds cannot keep. 

Tossing o'er smooth, shining pebbles. 
Laughing aloud in your sleep. 

Dreaming of yesterday's travel. 

Mountain, and moor, and the vale; 

Water-sprites weave in their ballads 
Bits of the half whispered tale. 

Hear the sweet nightingale singing! 

How the sad song of his dream 
Mingles in contrast of feeling 

W^ith the glad tone of the stream ! 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Ever, he sings in the distance. 
Having no wish to be free, 

Lioving his bondage of sadness 
Ever and ever to be. 

Saddest at night is the willow, 
Willow that ever shall weep; 

Though melanclioly in day time, 

Saddest dreams burden its sleep. 

PiBing and drooping though ever. 

Nightly, through all the long years. 

Sobbing and dew-tVrenched, the willow 
Bursts its great heart full of tears. 

Even the flowers are dreaming. 

Dreaming of something divine. 

Something that leaves in their blossoms 
Fragrance, and beauty sublime. 

Oh, what a fair glimpse of Eden, 

When with the dawn they unfold, 

Ifaking the bright morning marvel 
Each little fiower to behold. 

Bursting in eloquent praises. 

Language that souls understand, 

Fashion, and color, and perfume, 
Tell of God's night in dreamland. 



24 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Fitfully sleeping and waking. 

All. the night long the soft breeze. 
Bearing its burden of fragrance. 

Whispers, and stirs in the trees. 

Mid the low rustle of blossoms, 
Far and near, ever are heard, 

Plaintive, and sweet as from heaven, 
Cries of the nocturnad bird. 

Beautiful, though be the woodland 

Bathed in the morning's sunlight, 

Grander, thy dignity makes it, 
Wonderful, beautiful, night! 

Solemn and sacred, yet sweetly, 
Strangely enchanting it seems. 

Steeped in mysterious secrets. 

Dreaming its own mystic dreams. 

Why do you stir in your slumber? 

Tell us, oh beautiful trees; 
Why move your leaf-covered branches 

Slow in the gentlest breeze? 

Hushed lullabies softly humming, 

Rocking within your great arms 
Birds in their half hidden cradles; 
These, are your tenderest charms. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 26 



Soft tailing moonbeams, all golden, 
Glimmer, then sink out of sight 

Par in the depths of the woodland, 
Wrapped in the shadowy night; 

Where, in a spell of enchantment. 
Bound till tlie dawn of the day 

•Comes like the smile of an angel. 
Dazzling the moonbeams away. 

Thus, when the green earth reposes, 
All the world sleeps on her breast. 

Night spreads her rich robe of darkness. 
Bidding fair nature take rest; 

And like a queen in her glory 
Graces her beautiful throne. 

Wielding her powerful sceptre. 

Deeming the earth all her own; 

While the far heavens, illumined. 
Soft with celestial fire glow, 

-Send pilgrim rays from the sky lamps 
Into the darkness below. 

Ever, reign o'er thy dominion 
After the close of the day. 

First, in the spirit of twilight, 

Dreamy, and golden, and gray; 



26 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Then in the fullness of power 

Rule o'er the slumbering earth 

Till the new day, in her brilliance. 
Seizes the throne at her birth. 

Then, oh had heaven an artist! 

True, to paint thee in thy flight 
Vanishing spirit of grandeur. 

Wonderful, beautiful, night! 



SECOND DIVISION 

HEART POEMS 

Maddening Moments. 

In Memoriam. 

To a Pressed Rose. 

A Woodland Romance. 

Babe at Twilight. 

Memory. 

An Angel Bird. 

Dejection and Reflection. 

To My Dream-Boat. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 29 



MADDENING MOMENTS 

Away with this chair! this slow wheeling chair; 

And give back the nimble feet 
With whom, in the past, not a lad or a lass 

In a race would dare compete. 
God, grant the sweet freedom to roam once more. 

Alone, through the wild wood green; 
And o'er the flowered hills, seeking gold daffodils; 

Heaven, Mdiat does this bondage mean? 

Come back, light of day, with your world of joy, 

To the eyes that cry to see ; 
And replenish the soul from your flowing bowl 

Of human ecstasy. 
Return with those grand possibilities, 

Beset with hope gems that gleam; 
And wake the voice, hushed in the spirit that's 
crushed, 

With the magic of your beam. 

Come back, tide of notes, from the world of sound. 

To the ears that yearn to hear 
Long lost melodies, and the bird symphonies. 

And voices of loved ones dear; 
And give me the voice that was once my own 



30 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



To speak, and laugh, and sing; 
Great God, I beseech, give me hearing and speech! 
Or help me to bear this thing. 

Come back, sacred love, to this lonely heart 

That w^eeps incessant tears; 
And bring it the smile and the life worth while 

To till the empty years; 
Rekindle the lire in this holy hearth, 

Till its glow transforms the face; 
God's most precious gift, come home from adrift. 

And warm this chilled place. 

Come back, vital thought, on your spangled wings; 

Come back to this shadowed brain; 
And make it full bright with transcendent light 

Of reason, once again. 
Unfetter the chains of this madness, that 

Usurped your native throne; 
Return, exiled reason, to vanquish foul treason; 

And nobly claim your own. 



IN MEMORIAM 

Though a day has spent its glory 
On the earth and in the skies, 

And its crimson fades forever, 
Yet, its beauty never dies. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 31 



For the warm, bright day, in passing, 
Leaves an influence to bear 

On all flower and vegetation 
That it started everywhere. 

How the warm rays of its sunshine 

And the sweetness of its breeze 
Burst to life the seed, earth planted, 

Coax to budding mighty trees! 
Though tomorrow, with its clouding, 

Fills the earth and sky with gloom, 
Yet, undying is the longing 

That it gave to thrive and bloom; 

For the tiny roots, once started. 

Have the courage still to grow. 
And the buds brought into being 

Cease not striving fair to blow. 
Every sunbeam, every dew-drop 

That the world received that day 
Gains in value of its mission 

As the world rolls on its way. 

Thus it is with you, dear mother. 
As God takes you to His care. 

Through the gloom we see your beauty 
As you left it everywhere. 

You have lived the life God gave you 
In the good way that you knew. 



32 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



And our paths will ever blossom 
With the roses Mother strew. 

With God's help, our heavy crosses 

Will be borne with valiant grace, 
Lightened by the sacred memory 

Of our angel mother's face; 
And the bitter cup will sweeten 

With the thoughts you strove to give.. 
Ever, noble inspirations 

In the lives your children live. 

God was good to leave you. Mother, 

In our midst these many years; 
And the sorrow of this parting 

Is not measured by our tears. 
We are sad, but why this sadness 

When we contemplate your life 
With its noble deeds e'er shining 

Through this world's unceasing strife' 

While our hearts are doing battle. 

Gaining strength, we firmly stand, 
Clasping all your golden weapons, 

Richly jeweled, in our hand; 
Weapons that the angels carry: 

Patience, courage, strength and love; 
May they guide us in your footsteps 

To that golden gate above. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 33 



TO A PRESSED ROSE 

How long, little rose, have you lain like this? 

How long, 'twixt the pages here? 
"When you came here to rest, were you sadly pressed; 

All wet with a heart shed tear? 
Or were you immersed in happiness deep. 

As sweet as your fragrant self; 
And then tenderly placed where you've long since 
graced 

This old secluded shelf? 

Did your soft petals touch the dear silent lips 

Of somebody's loved one lost? 
Could j'our eloquent powers in the language of 
fiowers 

Interpret the living's cost? 
And were you entwined in a wreath of love 

On the casket that went to the grave? 
Did you, rose, understand 'twas a mother's hand 

Selected you to save? 

Or might you have served in a mission of joy; 

Perchance, 'twas a maiden fair. 
For whose sake you came down to the bridal gown 

Or to deck her satin hair. 



34 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



The wedding day o'er, you emblem of love, 

She kissed you and put you away. 
Where, entranced through long years, thus embalmed 
in her tears 

Of happiness, you lay. 

Mayhap, little rose, 'tis the ballroom glare 

That dazzles your memory's eye; 
And your secret an ode to a brief episode. 

Into which I would not pry. 
Or is it the tale of commencement day 

Your spellbound lips would prate; 
Did you come here to rest trom the proud, hopeful 
breast 

Of a sweet girl graduate? 

Did you bloom, little rose, on a gorgeous bush, 

In a garden of roses rare, 
Where the dew and the moon and the smiles of June 

Conspired to make j^ou fair? 
And what did the whispering breezes say 

That caused your cheeks to flush? 
How came you to grow, to bud and to blow, 

And brighten the world with your blush? 

Ah, sage little rose, in your sacred dust, 

Asleep in an alien tomb, 
When you perished, the day you were thus laid away. 

You gave your fullest bloom; 
You died on the altar of sentiment; 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 35 



A beautiful death for thee! 
Better thus, to impart joy to some human heart, 
Than droop on a fine rose-tree. 



A WOODLAND ROMANCE 

There was once a quiet nook 

Down beside a merry brook 
Where a maiden took a book 

Every day; 
And if she didn't read 

She would let her fancy feed 
On its wanderings, for indeed, 

'Twas her way. 

When this little lassie took 

A deep interest in her book 
As she sat there by the brook 

In the shade, 
All oblivious of the world. 

Till the flag of night unfurled 
And the shadows crept and curled 

Round the maid. 

She would start as from a dream. 
And the very air would teem 

With the beauties of the theme 
In her head: 



36 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



For her mind and soul had been 

Other worlds and scenes withia 

And had mingled in their din, 
While she read. 

Now she vainly tried to feel 

That her earthly bower was real.. 
And the brook, that tried to steal 

From the dell, 
Till she made a pebble dash 

In the brook and heard it splash, 
And saw its tiny flash 

As it fell. 

Then the evening's dewy air 

Fell upon her face and hair. 
And she shivered, sitting there 

At that hour; 
So she left her flowery throne 

She had occupied alone 
And so loved to call her own 

Secret bower. 

Then she hid the treasure book 

'Mongst the lilies by the brook- 

For she daily to the nook 
Did return; 

And then gaily tripped away 

Singing happy songs that day 

'Long the path that loved to stray 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS X7 



Through the fern. 

All too soon, she sang, too soon 

Thou hast risen, lovely moon; 
And the nightingale the tune 

Seemed to know. 
For the saddest, sweetest note, 
Pathos pouring from his throat, 
Through the wood began to float. 
Soft and low. 

if she would her rest accept 

In her bower, he would have kept 
Yigil o'er her while she slept, 

And been glad. 
But the channing girl had gone. 

She had told him in her song, 
Leaving him to wait the dawn 

And be sad. 

When the morrow, bright and clear. 

Slowly dawning, did appear. 
Waking songsters far and near 

In their nest, 
She returned with face so bright 

And with heart so free and light 
After slumbering all the night 

In sweet rest. 



38 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Now, no more alone, this maid. 

Dreaming, sits there in the shade. 
In the nook the wild vine made, 

All in flower; 
For a hunter, wont to stray 

Through the woodland that bright day^, 
Chanced to tread the winding way 

To her bower. 

With no thought of gun or game,. 

He thereafter daily eame 
With his manly heart aflame 

And his soul ; 
For his admiration grew 

Into love so deep and true. 
And he found it sweet to woo 

This fair girl. 

Never after they forgot 

This ideal romantic spot 
Where it was their sacred lot 

To first meet. 
But in fancy, oft return 

To the nook mid vine and fern.. 
And the shining brook discern 

At their feet. 

Let the silvery brooklet sail 

Neath the sun or moonlight, pale„ 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLIXGS 39 



Or be ruffled by the gale, 

Bleak and wild! 
In its murmur still is told 

Of the handsome hunter, bold. 
And the girl with hair of gold; 

Woodland child. 

And the story seems to please. 

For the birds up in the trees 
Tell it to the whispering breeze, 

As it moves; 
And methinks the woodland sighs, 

While with kindly smiling eyes 
Heaven looks down from the skies 

And approves. 



BABE AT TWILIGHT 

A sweet little head of flaxen hair 

Lowly sank on a mother's breast, 

And nestled there 

While she hummed an air 

To soothe her babe to rest. 

That sweet cup of love the mother sips, 

Fondly kissing oft again 
The pink finger tips 
And dainty red lips 

And little dimpled chin. 



40 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLING3 



The innocent lips then sweetly smiled. 
And the eyes of turquoise blue, 

With expression so miid, 

Slowly closed, and the child 
Fell asleep to dream anew. 

She rocks and sings those iullabys 

Which soothe our childhood years. 

And smother sighs, 

And close tired eyes, 

And dry unwanted tears. 

How softly she hums those simple airs 
Whose Avorth to babe is known. 

Till the smile he wears 

Shows that baby's cares 

On speeded wings have flown. 

Then moving with a noise^.ess tread 

In baby's nursery. 
On downy bed 
The sunny head 

She pillows tenderly. 

While o'er the sleeper bends she lovr. 
Though dreamland paths he trips, 

He feels e'en now 

Upon his brow 

The light touch of her lips. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLIXGS 41 



MEMORY 

I dreamed a fair dream on a pillow of tears, 

A dream that will lighten the burden of years; 

It lived all the glad, happj'^ hours o'er and o'er 

That glitter like studs in the bright days of yore. 

When God giveth sweetness from life's brimming 
cup 

Its memory e'er sweetens the more bitter sup; 
'Tis only a link in life's wonderful chain, 

Fate's handiwork blending its gladness and pain. 

Oh, beautiful dream of the bright, golden past; 

Thy radiant beauty shall ever more last! 
Though vanished, it lingers in memory dear, 

For what is a dream, was reality here. 



AN ANGEL BIRD 

The beautiful cage moves not on its spring, 

And motionless too hangs the gay little swing. 

The perches are free from their precious weight, now. 
For Death's angel entered some where and 
some how. 

Yes, there in the bottom, all silent and cold, 

Its bright plumage spread like a halo of gold, 

Our birdie is lying on one pretty wing. 

Oh, pride of the household, poor beautiful thing! 



42 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



No bird was e'er blessed with a voice like thine owr 
Whose silvery notes scatter its beauty and tone. 

'Tis like shutting out all the joy and sunshine, 

For the life of our home was that sweet song of 
thine. 

We'll lay thee to rest neath the fairest of skies 

With love in our hearts and sad tears in our eyes. 

A tiny silk pillow of daintiest blue 

We place in the casket we've just made for you 

Of a wee handsome box that's all covered with 
flowers; 
'Twill seem that you slumber 'mid blossoming 
bowers. 
So neatly we've lined it with silk white as snow 

Together with rose-leaves whose fragrance you 
know. 

A silken shroud, blue as the sky's bluest spots, 
And laden with pleading forget-me-nots, 

So lovingly covers our beautiful dead, 

While dainty wreaths twine round your poor 
weary head. 

A lily-cup tilled with the morning's bright dew, 

The tear-drops, perhaps, that the birds shed for 
you, 

We place in your casket, a fountain to be. 

To ever remind you, the world weeps for thee. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 43 



'Twill keep fresh and fragrant each tiny rose-leaf 
Whose tender caresses will tell of our grief. 

No monarch or sovereign is there, but were proud 
To take their last rest in your casket and shroud. 

Your monument towers, a graceful elm tree 

That sighs o'er the grave we have given to thee, 
A little mound covered with mosses and 
flowers 
Where bright sunbeams linger through long 
summer hours. 

Forever, you'll slumber beneath the green sod 

But your soul in your song is an angel with God. 

'Twere wrong to recall you in longing or words, 

For heaven weren't heaven without singing birds. 



DEJECTION AND REFLECTION 

I rose one half-dawned morning 

From a tossed and sleepless bed. 
With brain astorm with cloud-thoughts, 

And a heart that weighed like lead. 
With grief-drawn face, eyes tearful, 

Saddened lips that would not smile: 
Life's quiv'ring ship seemed dipping 

To its anchor-heart the while. 



44 THOUGHT-BIRI) WAHBLINGS 



A bird, from out my window, 

A "Good inoniinK," joyous trillod; 
My soul's liKht-pinioned thought-bird. 

Swilt rospondiiiK, rose, and thrilled 
Me with aspirant longing 

To attune uh-. to the morn 
And feel the breath of heaven. 

As that sweet new day was born. 

So, out into my garden. 

And adown its tlower-fringod path, 
1 stole, and saw each flower 

All anoint* with bright dew-bath — 
Morn's marvelous baptism, 

Whence emerges myriad powers 
To vanquish bloom-life bllghtings, 

Hard imposed of y<\ster hours. 

The dust, the heat and brownness. 

Heaped on flowers yesterday. 
With all their worry-burden. 

In that dew-bath dripped away, 
Restoring them to freshness 

And courageous attitude. 
As if with God's own spirit 

They divinely were imbued. 

From deep, brave-throbbing, red hearts 
Of many a half-blown rose. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 45 



Sweet fragrant hope ascending 
Quite iinbittered all my prose. 

And, as I caught the whis'prings 
Of each striving, bursting bud, 

My heart and thought-veins quickened 
With their braver strain of blood. 

And so I strolled my garden 

Until half-dawn bloomed full dawn, 
Imbibing optimism 

That flowed on, and on, and on — 
Receiving sweet instruction 

In the tongue of flowers and trees, 
Until I stood triumphant — 

Honey-lilled, as were the bees. 

And then, some ardent sun-rays, 

That all golden-streaked the land, 
Came struggling through the vine-leafed 

Thatch, and warmly kissed my hand. 
As if they'd travelled earth 'round, 

And throughout the livelong night. 
To thus kiss and caress me 

And make my morning bright. 

With heart-thoughts full, o'erflowing 
With the garden's wisdom sweet. 

My pleasure was reflected 

In a smile of joy so meet 



46 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



That e'en the songster marvelled, 

Warbling more ecstatic'ly 
Than when he sang "Good morning!" 

Such a change was wrought in me. 

Myself, attune with nature, 

Yester's grievous ills forgot, 
And all that starless night between, — 

Skies with cloudsome billows fraught. 
And so I left the garden, 

And my store of gleanings took 
To strew upon the pages 

Of life's daily poem book. 



TO MY DREAM-BOAT 

Sail on! Dream-boat: earth-cares forget. 

Across the dream-sea drift 
Whose skies are ne'er so cloud-beset 

But sunshine spies a rift; 
Whose mystic waters murmur low. 

And, rippling ev'ry way, 
Seek isles bewitched in Fancy's throw 

Where dream-sea-breezes play. 

Glide on! lithe Boat— fantastic thing 

Moon-gold and starlight-flecked — 
Transport the soul that fain would sing 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 47 



The airs mermaids select 
From winds, and waves, and sylphs of sea 

That roam like spirit-gleams. 
Soft crooning cradle-songs to thee, 

Thou rocked in sea of dreams. 

Oh, fairy Boat, on seas all waved 

With opalescent light, 
Thou canst descend to beds, pearl-paved, 

Or skyward take fair flight. 
Half boat, half bird, a vision true 

Inspired through calm or gale 
To thus explore the waters blue 

And isles of shadows pale. 

Float airily, through dream-sea mist. 

Amid a thousand isles 
Where flowering thought-vines creep, atwist. 

In tangled dream-sea-wilds. 
And thought-birds nest the silvan heart 

Divinely warbling lay. 
While phantom clouds convene, and part, 

Soft-tinting all the day. 

Then Night inspires, through starlit eyes. 
Her rich, isle-strewn domain 

Where, phantomlike, the Dream-boat plies 
In quest of golden gain. 

Hypnotic Moon's elysian smiles 

Through ages long have glowed 



48 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Upon these variegated isles — 
Sweet Varary's abode. 

'Tis here the Soul, transported, weaves 

Her floral thought-wreaths lair; 
Her magic, sea-cast net receives, 

In shoals, pearl-thought-gems rare; 
And from capricious clouds and skies 

She borrows moods and hues, 
While breezes proffer song and sighs 

For poet souls to use. 

Then, shore-ward sail! boat of the mind 

Replete with treasure-pile — 
Art-gift of cloud and sky and wind, 

Dream-sea, and bloom-lilled isle. 
And when Soul dips her golden pen, 

Oarlike, in pearl-strewn sea, 
My fragile boat rows back again 

With balm for earth and me. 



THIRD DIVISION 

LIFE'S POETRY AND PROSE 

(A poem which is a cluster — nay, a 
treeful — of thought-blossoms) . 



"THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 51 



LIFE'S POETRY AND PROSE 

When life is in its springtime 
And all the world bids fair, 
There's poetry in living; 
There's beauty everywhere. 

Above, the cloudless heavens 
Are steeped in azure hue; 
Beyond, life's ocean stretches 
In endless turquoise blue. 

The landscape, clothed in verdure 
And fairest springtime flowers, 
Presents a scene of romance 
In sweet secluded bowers. 

The near yet distant mountains 
Their richest bloom unfold; 
And every dancing sunbeam 
Contains its share of gold. 

This earthly spot of Eden, 
Would that 'twould ever last; 
But soon a glorious haven 
It glimmers in the past. 



52 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



For life's bright morning hastens 
On wings of wondrous grace; 
And to the moods of midday 
Gives up her queenly place. 

Life's poetry must vary 
And ever as it flows 
Amid the sweetest verses 
There creeps a line of prose. 

When hopes in tear-drops vanish 
Like pearls dissolved in wine, 
A bitter, costly beverage 
We think our bowl of brine. 

Fate loves to offer sacrifice 
Of hope's most brilliant star 
Consumed on lowly altars 
By life's ambition's fire; 

But, rising from its ashes. 
An incense rarely sweet 
Pervades the life it blighted— 
Fate's malice to defeat. 

In fancy oft well mounted 
On birds of Paradise, 
We skim the restless ocean 
Or hunt the tranquil skies; 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 53 



Or, through the tempest's peril, 
Soar high above the cloud 
Where mountains lift their summits 
To tempt the brave and proud; 

And float our gorgeous banner 
On yonder dizzy height. 
In glorious triumph posing — 
A victor in the tight. 

But, ere the eager fingers 
Would pluck the precious gem 
With all its sparkling beauty. 
From visionary stem. 

Reality comes gliding 
With swift and noiseless tread. 
And breathes her silent message 
In words like bits of lead; 

And seeks to mar vxitb swiftness 
The glowing, tinted rose, 
Inserting in its petals 
A vivid line of prose. 

O Hopes, while thus alluring 
To pinnacles of fame. 
Why fall from lofty pedestals 
To dreary earth again? 



54 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Each golden promise with its 
Own bright but empty dreams 
To chilly disappointment 
Would ever turn, it seems. 

And yet dull were existence 
With life devoid of these, 
The essence of ambition. 
To success the very keys. 

O Soul! despondent spirit. 
In sombre raiment clad. 
These robes are unbecoming 
These thoughts unduly sad. 

Muse not in dark apparel, 
Half melancholy tone. 
But pose in flowing ermine 
A garb in truth thine own. 

Let Hope, that star of beauty. 
Forever lead thee on. 
Ambition, force unfailing 
Impel from dawn to dawn. 

Be not dismayed and downcast 
When storms in furious wratli, 
Come sweeping o'er life's ocean 
And travel in thy path; 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 55 



And smiling skies are troubled 
By clouds that frown and roll; 
Eclipsing for a moment 
The halo of thy goal. 

In strife for right, the soldier 
Sees light beyond the gloom; 
His heart beats to sweet music 
That swells neath cannon boom. 

The cheery voice of courage, 
In storm or battle's din, 
Hath magic power to conquer, 
And helps the brave to win. 

Be captain of that vessel 
Which sails from pole to pole; 
Whose strength is noble purpose 
And difficult its goal. 

From the sunny climes of childhooi? 
Where virtue's blossoms grow; 
Through sweet and bitter waters 
Till age is crowned with snow, 

Thine onward path illumine 
With light that shines within, 
'Twill fall on other pathways, 
Help other goals to win. 



56 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



The Soul hath many wanderings 

In its celestial realm, 

Whence steers the ship of greatness 

With true and sturdy helm, 

In quest of priceless beauty- 
Fair Genius would reveal, 
In thought, in tone, in paintings, 
Its sacred haunts conceal. 

Within its courts and gardens. 
Those living fountains gleam. 
The source of inspiration 
Whence fiovrs the poet's dream. 

O Soul! Cease not to wander 
In quest of priceless worth; 
But seek and find, imparting 
Thy wealth to needy earth. 

Bring out, in tones enchanting. 
Those melodies divine 
That steal through human nature. 
To soften and reline. 

Then hold not in seclusion 
These gems of truth and grace 
Which have such noble bearing 
Upon the human race. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 5T 



"Bring forth thy best and purest" 
Is the world's demanding cry; 
For truest germs of greatness. 
In slumber never lie. 

Gleam as a light-house, towering 
In pure transparency; 
Each stone in whose grand structure 
Unveils its brilliancy. 

Far out on ocean's bosom. 
Each pilgrim ray of light 
May reach despairing vessels 
That pass in silent night. 

The smallest spark of genius 
Will shoot its flames up higher, 
Where, fanned by breath of honor 
It kindles into fire. 

It lies in Self's own power, 
To brighten or make dim 
The lamps which God hath given 
To burn and shine for Him. 

No life-boat, idly drifting, 
Can ever count the cost 
By saying, "If I perish. 
But I alone am lost." 



68 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBIJNGS 



Each footstep is imprinted, 
An image in the sand. 
What mighty tide can wipe it 
From this mysterious land? 

Each little day that passes 
Records at eventide, 
Its thoughts, its deeds, its longings. 
Base and noble, side by side. 

Indelible each letter 
Upon that tiny page; 
Erased not by atonement 
Nor dimmed by tears and age. 

Each life-book is a volumn 
Of poetry and prose; 
A picture as we live it, 
In human weal and woes. 

So strangely interwoven, 
These threads of colored strand. 
By tlie skillfulness of Fate 
And by Self's own willful hand. 

They form the unique pattern 
The world would analize 
And label certain portions 
Unlit for paradise. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 59 



O Pen! Which thus recordeth 
In stern, relentless hand, 
Our noblest aspiration 
Is to make thy mission grand. 

Record from early dawning, 
Till evening's calm repose, 
Life's poetry that's mingled 
With scattered lines of prose. 

Let not beneath thy blushes, 
Dark under lines be hid; 
But give the world a volume 
That's read from lid to lid; 

That when it claims our drama 
Full of lessons, for itself. 
The world may point with reverence 
To its place upon the shelf. 

'Tis storing wealth immortal 
To mine the gold at hand, 
The cream of nature given, 
A balm to heal the land. 

Each flower 'mid grasses blowing 
Gives perfume to the air. 
And makes the whole world sweeter 
For having nestled there. 



so THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



To live, enjoy and suffer, 

To labor, love and die, 

These mingled thorns and roses 

In every pathway lie. 

The life that tends its gardens 
And cultivates the rose. 
That culls out needless briars 
And stunts the weed that grows. 

That shares its precious fragrance 
Where little sweetness thrives. 
And sheds its snowy petals 
To brighten other lives. 

Aspires to crest of honor — 
A modest highway this. 
To win the crown of glory 
And drink the cup of bliss. 

That Hand is rich with jewels 
And most divinely fair, 
That gathers unseen laurels 
The humble brow would wear. 

And rules with patient firmness, 
The kingdom of a life; 
Allowing not a subject 
To enter into strife. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS Ci 



Unless the hostile tramples 
The honor of its king; 
Then sway the snowy scepter 
And grand defiance ring! 

And when the day is ended, 
Its lustre sheds afar; 
For heaven, all rejoicing. 
Unveils another star. 

And in its lofty mirror. 
The world beholds its own 
Arisen in its beauty, 
Unaided and alone, 

And murmurs while imbibing 
The light that backward flows, 
"That poetry is sweetest 
That's born of bitter prose." 



FOURTH DIVISION 

SERIOUS-THOUGHT ECHOES 

JL. B. C. Poem— 

A. Judgment of Man By God and Man. 

B. Man's Hope in God and God's Hope 
in Man. 

C. Human Responsibility to God. 

Springs of Life. 

Sun-Thoughts. 

Claud-Thoughts. 

•Christmas. 

A Child of God. 

To Adolescents. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 65 



THE A. B. C. POEM 

A 

Judgment of Man by God and Man, 

Could man survey as God surveys, 

From His celestial throne, 
The hearts of men, ah, seldom then 

Would he find hearts of stone 
Or hearts corrupt, as all too oft 

Man judges hearts to be; 
How difrent, though, if man could know 

And as the great Judge see. 

Not infancy alone, bewails, 

Nor child in early years, 
But manhood grown would fain atone 

For ills in honest tears. 
They may not fall, but burn, unshed, 

Stemmed by we know not what; 
And God, each day, sees hearts that pray 

And good that man deems not. 



66 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



B 

Man's Hope in God and God's Hope 
in Man. 

The vilest human being clings 

To some soul quality; 
Some principle that's beautiful 

He's zealously kept free 
Prom bondage of the sin that dyes 

It blacker than the night, 
And God, afar, notes that wee star 

And loves its feeble light. 

How sacred to that soul is hope. 

Its single, precious ray. 
For God's eyes gleam through that fair beam 

To light it on its way. 
And while this single lovelit spark 

Remains to vitalize, 
That drifting soul may reach the goal 

And bloom in paradise. 

For every longing of the heart. 

Of goodly mien, whate'er. 
If true and pure, aspireth sure 

To heaven as a prayer. 
Thus it must be, and e'er has been 

Since human life began. 
No power innate can separate '" 

God from the heart of man. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 67 



Human Responsibility to God. 

Apart from all God-given life, 

Above all else that be, 
But lower than His angel clan 

Our kind created He. 
Unrecognized, oft times, by men. 

Ignored, perhaps, by self, 
God's image, pure, must still endure, — 

'Tis man's inherent wealth. 

Ignoble thoughts and vicious deeds 

Spring not from what is ours. 
But lack of care in life's warfare 

On weeds that choke the flowers. 
Why trample, then, neath willful tread. 

The noble germs that rise? 
Cut off the foot that harms the root; 

E'en sin doth sin despise. 

O'er self be vigilant and strong. 

High self-respect retain; 
Incessant light for truth and right 

Is life's intended plane. 
Belittle not one grain of good 

In self or other men; 
Crlad-hailed at birth, prolific worth 

Blooms swift and oft again. 



68 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Where intellect and conscience fail, 

Heart's tender strings discern; 
Who disbelieve what these perceive 

From right perversely turn. 
Humanity, responsible 

Through powers inborn that ken, 
Shall honor life, exalt its strife, 

Hope, soar, and live again. 



SPRINGS OF LIFE 

Life is charged with latent powers, 

Welling springs of truth and joy,. 
Which to gush, through mortal hours^. 

'Twas designed that man employ 
Every hue and shade of feeling, 

In the conscientious soul. 
That comes, automatic, stealing. 

To the heart and mind, its goal. 

Heaven holds the hand terrestrial 

With a firm eternal grasp, 
While to earth a power celestial 

Flows inherent through that clasp;. 
And the wireless circuit, throbbing 

With its freight of joy and pain. 
Thinking, dreaming, laughing, sobbing . 

Touches every heart and brain. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 69 



^'hen the mind, for knowledge thirst- 
ing, 

In its quest discovers truth, 
Wke a flood of glory bursting 

Light illumes the thought of youth. 
Wondrous joy and satisfaction 

Glows in intellectual fire! 
May God stay the black hand's actian 

That would quell the fine desire! 

Sluggish is the heart and prosesick 

That moves not in pleasure's dip, 
When the spirit of gay music 

Bids the light fantastic trip. 
Dull the ear not captivated 

By glad songsters in yon nook. 
Winds with minor music freighted. 

And the major liquid brook. 

Dim the eye that cannot mirror 
Panoramas in the sky, 

Cloud scenes grand and pictures fairer- 
Masterpieces passing by! 

Dwarfed the minds that read no poems 
Penned in nature day and night; 

'Gain no emulation from them; 

Feel no transports of delight- 



70 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Much enthusiasm savors 

Of the sweetness life contains;: 
And its stimulating flavors 

Redden all the paling veins. 
'Tis the love of work and duty 

That makes happiness of strife; 
While the streams of joy and beauty 

Lend their freshness to all life.. 

Keep enthusiasm reigning! 

Life and interest to diffuse; 
All the arid waste reclaiming 

Through her wealth of avenues: 
Else King Morbidness advances 

With his force of lassitude, 
Subjugating mind and senses 

To his blighting, death-like mood,. 

Why decline the nectared fountains. 

Quaffing 'stead the stagnant pool. 
When the gracious, luring mountains 

Proffer springs of crystal cool? 
Let the wireless make impressions; 

Let it play its proffered role 
In securing sweet concessions 

Of the common-place to soul!. 

Man's capacity for pleasure 

In fair nature, round about, 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLIXGS 71 



In vast intellectual treasure. 

And in principles devout, 
In his own responsive heart-strings, 

Tuned for loved humanity, 
Harping with empassioned renderings; 

This is life as life should be. 

There's a box of alabaster 

In the heart of every rose 
On the human tree, whose Master 

Bids the petals all disclose 
To the world its soul-born treasure, 

And the same with gladness break; 
Spilling attar in fall measure 

For its own a.nd others' sake. 



SUN-THOUGHTS 

When fertile seeds of sunny thoughts 
With breezy talk one scatters, 

'Tis not the grade or depth of soil 
On which they fall that matters; 

For mental soils, rich, fair, and poor, 

From mere standpoints of learning. 

Have still this common quality: 
The innate. Godly yearning 



72 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



For sun-thoughts with the^ir iife-blood glow — 
Blest fountainheads of health 

That bring to heart and niind and soul 
A worthy, righteous wealth. 

Sun-thoughts create much happiness, 
And heart-born smiles set free; 

They parents are of goodly Deeds, 
That smile back radiancy. 

A blithesome word transplants them swift. 

With e'er increasing power, 
Each new-born blossom making far 

More wondrous, fragrant flower. 

'Tis not the soil, then, but the breadth 

And constancy of strewing, 
That farthest rr-.diates sun-thoughts 

With benefits accruing. 



CLOUD-THOUGHTS 

When cloud-thoughts float in mental skies 
And chill fogs from the heart arise 

The ship of man but lamely plies 
The waters of life's sea. 

And when 'tis plunged in gloom, and tossed. 
E'en (Jod amazes at the cost 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 73 



Of bright-gemmed hours so wasted, lost; 
'Tis Gloom's inherent fee. 

These tearful cloud-thoughts, drear and gray, 

Shed misty tilms of blinding spray 
That screen the sea, and veil the day 

That, smiling, waits to shine. 
And Oh, the blackness of the sky, 

Whence borrows life its mournful dye. 
When cloud-thoughts gather there to cry 

And make a life repine. 

But Captain Courage must appear 

His crew of spirits low to cheer, 
And guide the ship through grief and fear. 

Dispelling fog and storm; 
Till cloud-thoughts part and roll away. 

Pursued by golden shafts of day — 
Sun arrows in the blue that play 

Victorious, bright and warm. 



CHRISTMAS 

Oh, Holy Day of Jesus' birth, 
Thy glad return, so near. 

Will lend new joy to all the earth 

Throughout the day-gemmed year. 



74 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Thine outstretched hands are free with gifts. 
Thy heart with love o'erflows, 

And through thy mind the Christ-thought 
sifts 
The sweets of Sharon's Rose. 

Come dwell in ev'ry life in fact, 

And smile in ev'ry face; 
The world is eager to enact 

The Christmas thought and grace. 

The Brother-song thrills ev'ry land 

With human sympathy, 
When Christmas takes the harp in hand 

And plays Humanity. 

Who gives and smiles, and fills a need^ 

Exalts new suns to shine; 
He lives a life that's blessed indeed! 

Who shows the Christmas sign. 



A CHILD OF GOD 

A little ray of sunshine 

Thou flittest to and fro, 

Across a million pathways. 

Where weary feet must go. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 75 



Thou partest thorns and thistles 
For feet all bruised and sore. 

And lifteth cooling water 

To lips that thirst for more. 

And for the weary trav'ler, 

Worn out with toil and strife 

Thou findest food and comfort 
In God's great book of life. 

In heaven thou hast treasure; 

So go thy peaceful way, 
And what thou art, be always; 

A sunbeam ev'ry day. 



TO ADOLESCENTS 

Oh, frailsome little barks galore. 

How came you drifting here — 
On life's sea launched, afar from shore — 

Glad frisking without fear? 
You dare not trust these blue-green waves. 

Sun-sprayed and dreamful now; 
For oft the sea wild wakes and raves! 

Neath heaven's angry brow. 

Oh yes, the sea rolls calm to-day; 
She rocks herself to sleep. 



76 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Whilst, darting, gleaming in your play, 
From crest to crest you leap. 

You rise and fall to sweet-sea mood — 
In youth's own sportive way — 

Submerged in sprays all rainbow-hued, 
And thence emerging gay. 

But stray you not so far from shore. 

Else lighthouse gleams will fail 
When floodgates burst and tempests roar, 

With sharks pursuing trail! 
When storm-tiends flaunt their blazing locks 

On mad waves dashing high 
Above malicious, hiding rocks, 

Neath lampless, cloud-veiled sky. 

If harbor-wise you'll not turn back 

At each approaching storm — 
Youth blithesome will not wisdom lack 

If thus far you'll reform: 
Go seek the noble, shelt'ring side 

Of some great white-winged ship. 
To be your friend, ally, and guide, 

On life's initial trip. 



FIFTH DIVISION 

ALMA MATER 

This poem is a dream-flight — a vivid 
mental panorama of school scenes and 
school life, at the School for the Blind at 
Vinton, Iowa, including descriptions of the 
building and grounds, and miniature charac- 
ter sketches of teachers and students, — and, 
best of all, a glimpse of our beloved and 
honored Superintendent, T. F. McCune, now 
deceased. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 79 



ALMA MATER 

I asked the East Wind yesterday, 

As it was sauntering off your way, 

To take some messages for me 
Back to the dear old I. C. B. 

But like a witch it scampered off, 
And even now, I hear it scoff! 

It whistled through its screeching horn 

And laughed my earnest plea to scorn. 

And when it would not heed my cries. 
The bitter tears came to my eyes. 

I wrung my hands in deep despair 

And would have madly torn my hair, 

But milder grew the frantic Wind, 
Before, so heartless and unkind. 

It kissed my cheek with sweetness rare 
And gently tossed my tangled hair. 

"Oh joy!" I cried, "Thou art no fiend. 
Thou kindly, playful, eastern Wind; 

All day have I entreated thee, 

While thou didst blow so furiously. 



80 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



If not my messages, then me, 

Take back to the old I. C. B. 
I want to go this very night 

Where all is music, song, and light." 

It took me on its wings, unseen, 

Where ne'er had ridden king nor queen. 
And swiftly floated toward the west; 

Oh sweet delusion, dream, or jest. 

My home was fading fast from view, 
As on my phantom chariot flew. 

We sped o'er many a barren field 

That yearly doth abundance yield, 

But slumbered now neath snowy shroud. 
The angels sifted from a cloud. 

Above, the sky so blue and cold. 

Bade me its twinkling stars behold. 

And each one seemed to say to me, 

"I'm shining on the I. C. B." 
"Oh that's the place I'm going to!" 

I cried, as wildly on we blew. 

"I'm going back this very night 

Where all is laughter, song, and light. 
For I have long been so homesick 

To make that iron gate swing and click. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 81 



To sauater up the avenue 

Neath trees that arch and bow to you. 
Then o'er the threshold, don't you know, 

When you have crossed the portico." 

Perchance, I'll meet, within the hall, 
The man who superintends it all, 

T. F. McCune, who'll offer me 
Such gracious hospitality. 

His greetings never welcome lack, 

When former students happen back. 

For what young life within his fold 
Did he not strive to wisely mold? 

The Iowa College for the Blind 

Is deep within his heart and mind; 

'Tis wrapped within his very soul 

That longs for it an honored goal. 

He's labored here and helped it grow 
Since first he came, long years ago. 

And little whiter, year by year, 

His once dark hair has grown, I fear. 

For twenty careful years and ten 

Are stamped upon his brow since then; 

And still, beneath his watchful eyes. 
The flames of all his hopes arise. 



82 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



I ponder thus, '"Tis good, but strange, 

His manner seems to never cliange."^^ 

He'll enter now his office door, 

And I shall hasten on once more. 

I want to walk those spacious halls 

And hear the old gong clang its calls^ 

Then up those flights of iron stairs 
And take the folks all unawares, 

While music floats upon the air 

And seems to come from everywhere: 

Though be it scale or exercise. 

To me, 'twere strains from Paradise.. 

I want to call on Ella J. 

And hear her laugh and gaily say 
"Well Jessie dear, how do you do! 

I knew that tap belonged to you; 

How glad I am to see you, dear! 

You're looking well ; take this chair here,. 
I'll turn the key within the lock. 

So we can sit and talk and rock." 

Then we'll review our college life, 
Its every petty trial and strife, 

And all the jolly times when we 

Were roommates in the I. C. B. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLIXGS 



And when most things we've talked about 
She'll bring a pack of letters out 

And read them over, every one. 

From Mildred, Kate and Lillian, 

And all the folks we used to know 

In those dear days some years ago. 

An hour will pass with Ella J. 
Ere I can tear myself away; 

And then I'll call on Miss Mattice 

And get some fruit or something nice. 

She never fails when I'm about 

To bring her tempting knickknacks out. 

She'll offer me her willow chair. 

And, maybe, let me biush her hair. 

As she is often wont to do, 

When it has had a fresh shampoo. 

She used to take me on her knee. 

When I was very young and wee, 

And oh the fairy tales! she'd tell. 

Ne'er lost on me their magic spelL 

And, as I older grew to be. 

Our friendship grew accordingly; 
She petted me the same, and smiled. 

And kissed me like I were a child. 



84 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



We too, must conjure up old times 

And make them peal anew their chimes 

Since first we met till scheming fate 
Belabeled me a graduate. 

Her gaiety and ready wit 

Are fascinating, I admit, 
But I must rise to go at last, 

For oh the time has flown so fast! 

A moment more and I am gone 

Miss Boughton next to call upon. 

Her pleasant manner and bright smile 
Are making sunshine all the while. 

Her noble life and gentle ways 

I think of now as in school days, 

A fair example to uphold, 

For true is she, and good as gold. 

I'll seek her recitation room, 

Where she'll be sitting all alone 

Correcting papers at her desk — 

A tedious, tiresome, nightly, task. 

I'll pause a momerft at the door 
That I have entered oft before 

With the brilliant class that proudly flew 
Canary bright and dainty blue. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLIXGS S^ 



Would it be rigbt to thus intrude 
Upon her thougbtful solitude? 

My heart responds with joyful throb 

And straightway bids me turn the knob. 

Such memories! come crowding back 
O'er recollection's gleaming track, 

For was it not in this same room 

Our budding minds were wont to bloom? 

'Twas here we learned philosophy. 

And physical geography, 
And rhetoric, and literature; 

Delightful, in those days of yore. 

We studied ancient history. 

And civil government, ah me. 

This one, I thought was such a bore; 
It daily caused me sighs galore. 

We never! never! could agree 

In political economy; 
Such grave discussions every day! 

Each claimed the right to have his saj 

Each had his own opinions too, 

Expressed, debated, stronger grew. 

Some heated arguments arose, 

(Among the boys, as you'd suppose). 



86 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



They did excel (the least wee bit) 
In this, and were so proud of it; 

But we denied, indignantly, 
The boys' superiority. 

When the floor was held by some bright youth 
We girls would oft retire, in truth, 

W^ith flashing eyes and burning cheek, 
To have our argument called weak. 

But Latin, made those same boys frown; 

The girls would smile and settle down 
Some puzzling verb to conjugate 

Or Latin sentence to translate. 

Ah yes, this is that room of old. 

Whose wondrous half can not be told; 

The objects all so like themselves, 

Long rows of books upon the shelves. 

The wooden maps are one and all 

Still hanging on the clean white wall; 

Here stands the dressed up manikin. 
In yonder safe, the skeleton; 

The old electrical machine 

Stands yonder, by whose side is seen 
The air pump which would seldom work 

But freakishly its duty shirk. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 87 



i see the same old Braille slates, 

The seats where sat my dearest mates, 

Our polished desks, and things like that, 
And there's the seat in which I sat. 

The teacher's desk is standing there 
With such an intellectual air, 

Beheaped, bepiled, bestrewn with books 
And papers which improve its looks. 

Behind it, in her self-same place, 

Miss Boughton, with her smiling face. 

Will welcome me in words most kind. 

While all these thoughts flash through 
my mind. 

I'll linger here until at last 

A pleasant hour has swiftly passed; 
And then the music rooms must all 

Receive a hasty little call. 

The rooms I took my lessons in, 

Piano first, then mandolin. 
Then all the practice rooms where we. 

The students, worked so zealously. 

How many battles here we won 

Throughout the day, from sun to sun. 

While practicing in smiles or tears 

Through many weeks, and months, and 
years. 



H THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



The old walls seem to ring again 
With many a familiar strain. 

And as I touch those yielding keys, 

The tones that live once more, are these: 

ThB same that gave, in by-gone years, 

Ambition, hope, and doubts, and fears. 

Laborious, happy hours were they ^ 

Spent at these pianos every day. 

Reluctantly, I'll leave it all 

To visit next the concert hall. 

This room, we call the chapel too; 

How tine 'twill look as I pass through! 

Suspended, in its lofty heights 
Are clusters of electric lights 

That flood the room with brilliancy, 
Displaying it right gloriously; 

The polished floor with not a scar. 
The opera chairs without a mar, 

Upon the platform at one side 

The grand piano opened wide, 

Where nervous fingers, half afraid, 
In past recitals lightly played 

Or boldly dashed the practiced hand, 

That fairly shook the firm old grand. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 8» 



Again, the soul of genius stirred 

When, like the voice of some sweet bird. 
The player made those trembling keys 

Sing out such thrilling melodies. 

Majestic in appearance grand, 

There does our tine pipe organ stand, 
I fain would hear its mellow tone, 

But mute it stands, for once alone, 

Surrounded by the empty seats 

Where sit the choir that daily meets 

To practice many a chorus song, 

Some light, some difficult and long. 

The choir have very much to do 

With chapel exercises too. 
Who'd think, to see us rise, with grace 

And dignity and sober face. 

To sing an anthem or a hymn. 

What fun we had while learning them; 
For in the morning's sacred tunes 

Lurks not a hint of afternoons, 

When the stubborn basses wouldn't try 

Because they thought it went too high. 

And when the altos tried their part 
The witty tenors acted smart 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



And slyly sang cute parodies 

To those enchanting melodies. 

And when it came their time to sing 

Sometimes they wouldn't know a thing; 

The prim sopranos, listening well. 

Were called upon the words to tell ; 

The teacher then would turn and frown 
And call the giggling tenors down. 

For all this chaos, fun, and wit. 

And sometimes we had much of it, 

The choir accomplished, every day, 
A wondrous lot, I'm proud to say. 

I'll slowly close the chapel door 

And turn my thoughts elsewhere once 
more. 
The students' rooms around the hall 

Must now be entered, one and all. 

Through open transoms, floating come 
Familiar voices' merry hum. 

While peals of rippling laughter ring, 

And, now and then, they stop to sing. 

And, as I enter every room, 

The atmosphere seems full of bloom. 
And life, and youth, and hopefulness, 

And blithesome, girlish carelessness. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 91 



And oh the joy of seeing there 

Those happy girls, so bright and fair! 
Nowhere seem faces quite so sweet 

Or girls so pleasant and so neat. 

Their hearts are full of sympathy, 
And love, and youthful gaiety; 

Too strong and true to break or die, 

Their friendship, with its golden tie. 

Here's Lizzie K. with her dark hair 
And smiling lips and face so fair! 

Her dear white hand I'll warmly shake 

And kiss her, just for old time's sake. 

With fluffy hair and rosy cheeks 

And voice that's music when it speaks, 
Miss Vena, with a heart so true, 

Comes up, old friendship to renew. 

I'm greeted now by sunny Beth, 

Whose loving arms most take my breath; 
A loyal girl, this sweet brunette. 

And one I shall not soon forget. 

Here's jolly Leta, full of glee 

And fond of gay society; 
"I'm right delighted to see you!" 

And chere is quiet Stella, too! 



92 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



And Edith, stately girl is she 

And dignified as she can be. 
And here comes modest Lois, hark. 

She sings as sweetly as a lark. 

What means this pair of noisy feet 

And arms that snatch me from my seat? 

'Tis Lizzie Gorden! greeting me, 

Whose beaming countenance I see. 

She'll try to tell me how I'm missed, 

And many an Irish phrase she'll twist; 

She'll doubtless ask me to adore 

Their "polished rugs" and "Brussels 
floor." 

And there is Effie! dear old girl 

With silken tresses all in curl; 

And Susie, delicate and pale. 

Ambitious, but so very frail. 

Here's Tillie! with her peaceful mind 
And great big heart so good and kind. 

Always a friend when one's in need — 
"I'm glad to see you, glad indeed!" 

I'll then miss from among them here 

My class mates who to me were dear; 

And other names, my thoughts unfold. 
Of many precious friends of old. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 93 



The rooms are neat and clean as wax; 

Not one its old time freshness lacks. 
Inviting are the shapely beds 

So clean and smooth neath snowy 
spreads; 

The curtains white as angel wings, 

The stands all strewn with little things. 

While bits of dainty fancy work 

In every nook and corner lurk. 

Such gorgeous pillows they have made 
In every pattern, size, and shade. 

For charming rooms, a window seat 
Must have for prettiness complete. 

The walls bedecked with ornaments 

Of wondrous taste but small expense; 

Artistic'ly is all arranged — 

Ah yes, their brightness is unchanged. 

Refinement hovering everywhere 

Gives all a wholesome, homelike air. 

That love for beauty, warmth and cheer 
Exists nowhere more than right here. 

The rooms I used to call my own 

Have still their welcome, sunny tone; 

To me they seem like home, sweet home. 
And some how, bid me cease to roam. 



94 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



'Twas here those happy times were spent 
When boxes that our mothers sent 

Crammed full of goodies, rich and rare, 

Prepared with so much thought and care, 

Were opened, oh so eagerly! 

And served with much hilarity. 
One cannot but blithe school days miss 

When thinking over all of this. 

But I must hasten on again 

To follow thought's unceasing train, 
Descend the stairs, and, I presume. 

Just peep into the dining-room, 

A room so large and clean and grand 

Where twelve long tables always stand — 
This table here, 'tis number four, 
Is where I sat in days of yore. 

A spotless cloth each table wears 
Surrounded by a score of chairs, 

Where hearty youths and maidens dined 
On wholesome food of every kind. 

And lots of golden butter spread 

The heaped up plates of snowy bread, 

And fragrant coffee, steaming, poured, 
For we enjoyed the best of board. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 95 



Methinks I see our dear Miss Yates 

As by the door she stands and waits. 

No kinder heart is there that beat 

Nor woman's influence more sweet; 

Well loved by all the school is she, 

Housekeeper of the I. C. B. 
Beneath whose supervision fair 

Sweet cleanliness reigns everywhere. 

Back through the hall I'll stroll once more 
And stopping at an outside door 

Step out to take one turn at least 
Round the veranda on the east. 

The yard is full of snow just now, 

It burdens every twig and bough, 

And fills the arbor vitae hedge 

And mounts the window's wide stone 
ledge. 

No human foot as yet has trod 

On this fair mantle, laid by God 

O'er these loved grounds from gate to gate, 
Unbroken and immaculate. 

But thought recalls the golden spring 
When glorious birds begin to sing 

Their sweetest songs among the trees 
In modulating, minor keys. 



96 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



The softly sighing, dreamy pines 

That gently sway in murmuring winds 
Are gathering music all the day 

To render in their low, sweet way. 

Long, shady walks wind neath the trees 

And wander thither, where they please; 

And Nature weaves a carpet green 

Of earth's new velvet gown, between. 

The deep green hedge that lines the fence 
Guards all in silent vigilance, 

And in the midst of this fair spot 

The college stands, and mars it not 

But rather adds a hundred fold 

To all this beauty, rich and old. 

Yes, Heaven spreads her choicest blue 
In smiling skies, old school, o'er you. 

And like the flow of some full tide 

From your stone walls on every side. 

Through open windows and through doors 
A constant flood of music pours. 

Yes, all these things I'll think and do 
When 1 get back, old school, to you. 

Thus, did I let my fancy play 

While I was speeding on my way. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 9^7 



The distance now was nearly gone; 

I urged my phantom chariot on. 
And soon the college hove in sight 

All splendor in its brilliant light. 

The main part with its rambling wings. 
Long verandas and such things 

All looked so homelike and so grand, 
Instinctively, I waved my hand. 

The stars that twinkled in the sky 

Smiled cunningly, I knew not why; 

But as we nearer, nearer drew, 
More rapidly my chariot flew; 

And as we skimmed the college gate 

Swift dawned on me my dreadful fate. 

"Stop Wind," I cried, "and let me off!" 
Then came the old familiar scoff. 

I grabbed the branches of a tree 

In hope that it would rescue me. 

But all my efforts proved in vain 
And I was hurried on again. 

Now I could hear the choir boys sing 

Up in their rooms in the south wing. 

And through the north wing windows see 
The girls who chatted merrily. 



«8 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Half frantic now, I tried td leap 
But fell, exhausted, iii a heap, 

Convinced that 'twere of no avail. 

The girls, they heard my bitter wail. 

One raised her window and looked sad 
And said the night was surely bad, 
Then drew it down and said in fright, 

"My! how that wind does moan tonight!" 

The college with its memories dear 
Was fast receding in the rear, 

When suddenly the college bell, 

(To me, 'twere like my funeral knell) 

High in its cupola so proud, 

Rang out in tones both clear and loud. 
It rang for silence, and fdr sleep, 

And each "ding, dong," was rich and 
deep. 

Liike magic, all that blaze of light 
Ceased shining for another night, 

And Slumber with her peaceful dream 
And perfect silence reigned supreme. 

^'Come, dry your eyes, don't be a fool, 

There 're grander things than that old 
school ; 

I'll take you clear around the earth!" 
Remarked the Wind, convulsed With 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 99 



mirth. 

•'I'll show you all this grand old world, 
Its every flag to breeze unfurled, 

Its snow-capped peaks, and oceans wide 
With rugged coasts and rolling tide." 

Too disappointed to reply, 

At first I could but sob and cry. 

"'There's not a phase of earthly bliss," 
I said, "that can atone for this." 

"'Look," purred the Wind with gentle grace. 
And strove to dry my tear stained face, 

"See Italy, the fairest land 

Beneath the heavens blue and grand! 

Its dreamy hills and perfect skies!" 

I would not look, but shut my eyes; 

For, "What care I for mountains high. 
Or fleecy clouds in unknown sky. 

Pacific Ocean or Japan, 

China, or the Isle of Man, 
For Egypt, or Siberia; 

Oh, take me to America!" 

Thus many weeks and long months passed 
Before I reached home land. At last 

jVIy chariot stopped, and I was home 

From that strange trip o'er land and 
foam. 



SIXTH DIVISION 

PEN DIVERSIONS 

A Letter in Rhyme to a School Friend 

of Mine. 
iSoliloquy and Postal Dun. 
My Ixciptance. 
Old Santa. 
Tale of A Stick-pin. 
Farmer Boot-Lover. 
Song of the Aurora Circle. 
Song— My Heart For a Curl. 
:Song — Maqii oketa. 



THOUGHT-miip WARBLIXGS l^S 



A LETTER IN RKYME TO A SCHOOL 
FRIEND OF MINE 

Dear Friend: 
I wish to express thanfes for your kindness 

In taking the work assigned you. 
I'm loath to excuse folks who would refuse 

To do what I ask them to do. 
But for the most part they have shown a good 
heart 

And gladly accepted their work. 
*Tis pleasing to hnd them willing and kind: 

So few strive their duty to shirk. 

Of course I shall wait for you to debate 

The question of rhythm or prose ; 
But feel very sure which form will endure; 

Though you're still in doubt, I suppose. 
Whichever it be I clearly foresee 

Your product will be something good. 
The truth is, I feel you said a good deal 

In saying you'<J do what you could. 

Your letter in rhyB[ie reached me in due time, 
And came as a pleasant surprise. 



104 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Its ingenious style caused many a smile; 

Your talent you cannot disguise. 
Not often I get a rhymed letter, yet, 

I do myself sometimes write such. 
'Twas welcome, indeed, and pleasing to read. 

And one I enjoyed very much. 

That po€m you gave me long did I save, 

But where it is now I don't know. 
I can't understand what meddlesome hand 

Took it from my portfolio. 
Some poems of mine together with thine 

Long lay in a packet or two; 
But they've disappeared for good, it is feared. 

For I've searched this v/hole house through 
and through. 

Some curious one, no doubt, just for fun 

And pastime, removed them to read. 
And had not the grace to kindly replace 

Them, which is provoking, indeed! 
I deeply regret the fate they have met, 

But maj'be I'll find them some day; 
If ever I do, I'll send yours to you, 

Or a copy of it, I should say. 

Glad am I to learn you think to return 
To Vinton the last of next May. 

Of course I don't know, but think I shall go; 
I hope to be there any way. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 105 



And hope then to see at our I. C. B. 

A host of our jolly school friends. 
Such pleasure as this, one ought never miss. 

For on such things life's brightness 
depends. 

And now, Mr. Fey, I'll bid you good-by; 

And thanks for your letter in rhyme. 
I trust, doubting not, that 'tis your fair lot 

To have just the best of good time. 
And I wish to say, in closing, some day 

Your poems may win you much honor; 
So here's to you: fame, in the verse-making 
game. 

Sincerely your friend, Jessie Palmer. 



SOLILOQUY AND POSTAL DUN 

I think it's real mean and strange of Pauline 

To neglect writing such a long time; 
It might be some fun to send her a dun; 

I'll do it, and write it in rhyme! 
This pen scratches so; it is all I have though; 

Now what is her number? oh yes: 
Ten, Grand Avenue. April sixth, nineteen two. 

No, wait, it's the seventh I guess. 
She'll answer, I'll venture, when she gets this 
censure. 



106 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



This scribbling is simply a fright! 
Always something the matter; I'm mad as a 
hatter ; 
This horrid old pen will, not, write! 
Dear me, what a time, I can't make the thing^ 
rhyme ; 
My brain is some muddled it seems; 
So sleepy I'm blinking; if I try to keep thinking 

Soon writing I'll be in my dreams. 
It's going to be hard to get all on this card; 

Now what alls that miserable light! 
Perhaps this will do; guess I'll read the thing 
through 
And see if it jingles all right. 

My dear little one: I must send you a dun. 

Just to give your tine memory a jog; 
Not saying, my dear, that you're mentally queer. 

For memory's wheel oft slips a cog. 
'Tis folly to think I'd waste postal and ink 

If impression I thought I'd make none; 
But really you know you are most awfully slow. 

And need a good jacking-up dun! 
Is it 'cause I am gone your attention is drawn. 

So completely by friends newly found? 
I'll forgive the wrong though, if you pay what 
you owe 

With interest that's duly compound. 
I know you'll feel better when you write that 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 107 



letter; 
'Twill rid my face of a dark frown. 
Now please write a charmer. I'm yours, 
Jessie Palmer, 
At home in Maquoketa town. 



MY IXCIPTANCE 

(The reply to an invitation which requested 
guests to come prepared to tell a story, sing 
a song, or dance a jig). 

Your kind invitation 

Oril gladly ixcipt. 
For Saint Patrick's day 

By all mains must be kipt, 
Deloighted OI'll be to 

Be there with me shmoile 
To greet me foine frinds 

From me auld Imrald Olsle. 
An ilegant toime is 

In store 01 belave, 
And 'tis thinkin upon it 

That makes me head rave. 
Me two fate will bear me 

To you with a story, 
But 01*11 sing or jig nivver! 

Miss 0-Palmer. (Be-Gory!) 



108 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



OLD SANTA 

Old Santa is that jolly man 

Who makes such splendid toys. 

He never does a thing but plan 
To please the girls and boys. 

On Christmas Eve he leaves his shop 
And goes round everywhere 

To fill our stockings to the top 
And leave some on a chair. 

He'll come to us, for papa said 

We've been good boys and girls. 

I never fuss or shake my head 

When sister makes my curls. 

I want a doll that's dressed in white; 

My brother wants a sled. 
He said he had a dream last night 

That Santa Glaus was dead. 

My, wasn't that an awful dream? 

It almost makes me cry, 
Cause, oh! how dreadful it would seem 

If Santa Glaus should die! 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 109 



TALE OF A STICK-PIN 

(These lines accompanied a stick-pin sold in 
a little surprise package at one of the booths 
at the "Village Fair" of the Women's Clubs). 

TO MY PURCHASER: 
I was bought with ten cents by a maid passing 
fair, 
Who wore me not once, but kept me with 
care. 
She admired and bought me to aid a small boy 
Who peddled us pins; and my sale gave 
him joy. 

She laid me away in a box in her room, 
Mid dainty lace 'kerchiefs and rarest 
perfume. 
My life in that beautiful box was a dream. 
Till some one promoted this Carnival 
scheme. 

Then I was dragged out to be offered once more 
For sale, at the popular "Country Store." 

So I'm purchased again, and this doubles my 
price! 
I'm a twenty cent pin, and respectably nice* 

ON WRAPPER OF PARCEL WAS WRITTEN: 
Be wise and buy me. 



110 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



For I'll make your heart glad, 
I'm useful and pretty 

And worth being had. 



FARMER BOOT-LOVER 

When any one sees my little bootees 

I say 'If you please, I wear them with ease. 

They look very small, but they don't pinch at 
all; 
I dance in the hall at ev'ry grand ball. 

This high grade of leather is light as a feather; 

We go out together in all kinds of weather. 
When others are weary of days wet and dreary 

And skies dark and bleary, I say to my 
Deary : 

"Wife, bring me my boots, and I'll set out those 
roots ; 
This weather just suits," 'The shoe wearer 
hoots! 
For on every bad day in the house he must 
stay 
Complaining away till he's wrinkled and 
gray. 
And he doesn't see why Scott Brady can ply 
Through slush, deep and high, and still 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 111 



keep his feet dry. 
'If I'd plod through this rain like a man with 
no brain 
I'd soon go insane with a rheumatic pain. 

But Scott's health is the best! and he'll laugh 
and he'll jest 
And make sport of the rest, while he works 
with a zest 
Or walks with much grace, with a smile on his 
face, 
Or runs a swift race, almost flying through 
space.' 

Let the shoe wearer plough, hobbling aft, you'll 
allow, 
In his heart a fierce row, and a frown on 
his brow. 
He thinks the trial is unjust when the sum- 
mer's dry dust, 
From the earth's sun-baked crust, burns 
his feet till he must 

Leave the road and the tield, with lips sadly 
unsealed, 
And to tyranny yield till his poor feet are 
healed. 
So let the surly man howl at the skies, fair or 
foul. 
If for 'plaints he will prowl and wear 



112 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



shoes and still growl. 

'Get some boots, Sir, like mine,' Scott says, 
'They're divine! 
You don't hear me whine with one corns 
like thine. 
Yes, the best thing to do, my friend, is for you 
To get some boots too, and you'll never 
feel blue. 

They cannot be beat! for they always look neat. 
And there's nothing more sweet. In a 
dance they're complete! 
I'm proud and I'm glad that I've kept up the 
fad 
Begun by my Dad, in a way that's not bad. 

Friend, discard your old shoes, and get rid of 
the blues! 
You can if you choose, and buy boots to- 
use. 
You'll walk many a mile, and whistle the while^ 
Or wear a broad smile, and be right up in 
style. 

Boots make a great hit when you get a fine fit," 
And I think, after bit, you'll all come to it. 
Not a breeze in the trees moves with such 
grace and ease! 
And now, watch my bootees! Good day. Sir, 
if you please.' 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 113 



SONG OF THE AURORA CIRCLE 

On Friday night, mid floods of light 

And strains of music, sweet, 
In pleasure rare, the ladies fair 

Of our gay circle meet. 
All cares depart from every heart, 

A smile on every face, 
For gaiety supremely reigns 

At every meeting place. 

Chorus. 
Aurora, Aurora, 

The light and the pride of the 
north! 
Aurora, Aurora, 

None ever shall fathom thy worth. 
Aurora, Aurora, 

Star of the old I. C. B. 
Aurora, Aurora, Aurora! 

We're more than proud of our gay 
crowd. 
For one you seldom see 
Whose brilliant rays attract the gaze 

Of all as much as we. 
The 'Northern Light' is dazzling 
bright 
Within the I. C. B. 



114 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



It is the belle of all that's swell 
In high society. 

Chorus. 

In laughter gay we float away 

On wings of carelessness, 
While melodies on gentle breeze 

Repeat our gladsomeness. 
Our circle seems a dream of dreams 

While floating through the skies. 
When spirits droop come join our 
group, 

'Tis fairy paradise. 

Chorus. 



SONG— MY HEART FOR A CURL 

I'm wand'ring again by a beautiful stream, 

Which flows through a far-away vale. 
The nightingale sings once again his sad song, 

As the sun slowly sinks o'er the hill. 
The pink and white blossoms are falling in 
show'rs 

Around my companion so fair; 
I tell her I love her and beg one dear curl, 

Just one, from her golden hair. 



THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 115 



Chorus. 

My heart for a curl, this ring for that rose; 

My all for one little word; 
A tear for a smile, a vow for a kiss. 

My life, for your love! my Bird. 

We lived in a dream till a quarrel arose; 

I tried many times to explain. 
She cast them away, my fond heart and the 
ring, 
Knowing not that she broke them in twain. 
The poor withered rose I still wear in my 
breast 
With one little bright golden curl. 
Your mem'ry is dear, though you broke my 
poor heart; 
How could you! my fair-haired girl? 

Chorus. 



SONG— MAQUOKETA 

Maquoketa of Iowa, no better town in the State! 
Schools of the best in Middle West; 

In ev'ry way up to date. 
Fine business men, prosperous clan; 

Beautiful homes without flaw. 



116 THOUGHT-BIRD WARBLINGS 



Here's to our City a cheer and a ditty: 
Hurrah for Maquoketa! 

Chorus. 
Do come, live in our town, 

Best little City in Iowa. 
Happy and gay, cheery alway. 

Right little bright little Maquoketa. 

People are fine, brotherhood sign 

Beams In the smile of each face; 
Serious too, when there's to do 

Something requiring the heart grace. 
Human, of course; loving, perforce. 

Pleasures resistless, and Ah, 
We're much mistaken if you'll not be taken 

With love for Maquoketa. 

Chorus. 



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